


Illusive Reality

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: Altered Reality, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), Simulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 16:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Is this gonna be a multi-chapter? I sense the answer is yes.Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	Illusive Reality

“Shit.”

It’s first thing in the morning and I haven’t even had my first cup of coffee yet. As a matter of fact, it’s my first cup of coffee that had just spilled all over my pants so now it looked like I pissed myself. Great start to a crappy morning after the worst night’s sleep in recent memory. 

With the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, I have been through more shit in my 30 years of life than anyone deserves to go through in 2 lifetimes, but for some reason, during the past week or so, I have woken up every night in a cold sweat, my throat dry and my voice weak. Each night I did the same thing - sat up in bed and touched my feet to the floor in an attempt to anchor myself, took a deep breath, and walked to the bathroom to look in the mirror. The person looking back at me looked like me, but it didn’t feel like me. After splashing water on my face, I went back to bed, but waking up screaming and sweating in the middle of the night was physically and mentally draining, and now my coffee was splashed across the front of my pants. 

“Woah, bad morning?” Morgan asked, carefully shuffling his way over to me. I am a nice guy, a notoriously nice guy, but there are two things that bother me to know end - the first was what drew me to become Dr. Spencer Reid, the youngest member of the BAU in the first place - when someone would hurt or take advantage of someone else - and two was when people would try to talk to me before my first coffee of the day. Before coffee and after coffee are two different people inhabiting the same body. Morgan had the gaul to look at my pants. “Definitely a bad morning.”

Taking a deep breath, I glared at him in my periphery. “I have not had my coffee yet, and then this happened. Say another word, and this skinny geek is going to kill you.” Morgan laughed and took that as his cue to leave so I could drink the magic elixir that makes me into the Spencer that everyone knows and loves. 

Within 15 minutes, everyone else arrived in varying states of alertness and I finished my first cup of coffee, so I was at least some semblance of a person. “We have a case.” Hotch whizzed passed my desk, his jaw clenched and hands practically glued to his sides. His stride was wide and he had purpose. This wasn’t just any case. It was a bad one.

No one says a word as we head into the round table room to start the briefing. Despite how tired I am, when I have a job to do, nothing stands in my way. Now I am fully focused and nothing is going to break my concentration until the case is solved. “My sweet crime-fighting lovelies, you are headed to the City that Never Sleeps, but not for any of the fun reasons like experiencing the true melting pot culture, or seeing one of the plethora of Broadway plays they have to offer.”

“New York,” I say. Cases in big cities are always harder for me. In a big city, a person could make themselves blend in with millions of other people occupying every square inch, while in a small town, everyone knew everyone, which meant as much as people tried, secrets were practically non-existent, making our job of picking people’s behavior apart much more doable. 

Garcia walks around the table as she clicks the remote, ruffling my hair as she tends to do. There aren’t very many people I let get away with doing that, but Garcia is one of them. “That’s right, 187. You are headed to New York, where two higher-ups, the CEO and chairman of New York-Presbyterian Hospital were found murdered in their offices.”

The second she pulls up the pictures I am intrigued.

Both men had been killed in completely different ways. One was shot right between the eyes, the other had deep cuts all over his body. Neither looked very similar - tall, short, thin, heavy, blond hair, black hair; they were both white, but that was it. Nothing about the crime scenes looked similar except for words. The chief executive officer, Ronald Chambers had the word cancer written on his arm in his own blood. On the desk a note had been typed that read, ‘I did this to myself.’ The same note was left in the Bryce Hall’s office. However the chairman’s arm read car accident rather than cancer. “First things first, are we sure that the killer is the same?” JJ asks. “Given the different methods of execution, I highly doubt it’s the same person, but they know each other and have the same motive.”

“Revenge.” 

“Considering the people that were killed, the director and Strauss are getting heat,” Hotch says. Of course they were, because the fact that they were ‘important people’ somehow means we should be quicker and more ‘on our game’ than if we were working to get justice for just ‘any other victim.’ For as long as I live, I will not take on an executive position; bureaucracy makes me sick. “Wheels up in 20.”

—–

Maybe it’s because we were told to be prioritizing these men over other victims, maybe I am actually getting sick, who knows, but I want to throw up as I step onto the plane. This case is going to be a long one. 

JJ is sitting in front of me and I can see double. I’m nauseous. My head is pounding. My muscles are twitching. Something is wrong. “You okay, Spence?” JJ asks.

I shake my head to try and wave off the unbelievable pain I’m in, but she doesn’t buy it, and rightfully so; she’d have to be an idiot not to see it, and JJ is no moron. “I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’m not okay. I feel like crap. But I’ll be fine.” Thankfully, she takes that for what it is and closes her eyes, leaving the dots to dance in front of my eyes.

As soon as Hotch calls for us to start with victimology, I stand and feel my legs fall out from under me. Now I’m looking at the ceiling of the plane, but rather than seeing the white, concave walls of the plane, I’m seeing swirls of gray-blues. The faces of my friends appear in front of me, looking down for just a moment before disappearing as well. 

I can’t see their faces. 

I can’t hear their voices.

No Hotch or Rossi. No JJ, Morgan, Emily. No Garcia.

My friends are gone.

What’s wrong with me?

Where are my friends?

Where am I?

…

Oh, my head…

The pounding in my head is fading quickly. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. 

Expecting to see the faces of my friends, I opened my eyes, but instead of seeing JJ and Morgan and Emily, I was greeted by the gray-blue tone I was seeing earlier. Where am I?

Then I voiced it aloud. “Where am I? Hello?! What the hell is going on?”

Did I have a breakdown? Am I locked up? Why is everything this weird shade of blue? Where are my friends? “Hello!?” I knocked on the only door I could see praying someone would come and tell me what the fuck was happening. Any one of my friends would tell you that I’m not a fan of the unknown; I like my facts.

“Hello, Dr. Reid.” Who is this man? I don’t know him. “Do you remember me?”

I shook my head. “No. Am I supposed to?”

“My name is Julian Musgrave - the owner of Asclepius Medical.”

What? “A hospital?” I asked. 

“Of sorts. At Asclepius, we offer the latest in breakthroughs for all kinds of medical problems, including A103 Strain.”

“What the hell is A103 Strain? Where am I? What am I doing here? Where are my friends?” This was starting to piss me off. Now, I was physically fine and mentally pissed off and I just wanted to go home. “JJ, Morgan, Emily? Any of those names ring a bell?”

The corners of his mouth twitched upward into an insidious smile. “Yes, they do. Dr. Reid, do you know what year it is?”

“2017.” What kind of a question is that?

When he shook his head, my own started spinning. “No, Dr. Reid. It’s not 2017. That’s what the simulation told you.”

“Simulation?” I could feel the bile start to rise in my throat. “Okay, excuse my language, but what the fuck is going on? What simulation are you talking about?”

“Dr. Reid, you work for me under the guise of Asclepius Medical. Code name Minerva. You’re an assassin. And the year is 4036.”


End file.
